This year I've been helping others with their photography, too.

Besides working (successfully) on two long-term photography / writing projects, I’ve been busy this past year with a return to teaching full time, hence the absence from posting much. Long story short, but my undergraduate and graduate studies were a mixture of English, journalism, media studies, philosophy, and theology. This year I’m teaching a combination of English and photography classes in a secondary school. I was demonstrating to my photography students how to submit to competitions of the Association of Texas Photography Instructors. To show them the process of choosing images entering (putting in all the proper metadata), I used one of my own photos taken during the academic year as an example, a photograph of the Big Boy Locomotive 4014, on a promotional tour for Union Pacific.

The day the Big Boy had come through town, I took with me a square format film camera. Large crowds pushed down to the tracks to get a look at the giant steam locomotive, understandable, and I was glad that parents had an opportunity to show their children this part of our past, but blocking me from a good photo. I waited until the engineer began blowing out steam as the locomotive prepared to head out to its next stop. As people retreated back from the steam and soot, I moved forward into the hot cloud. With one eye on the viewfinder, I kept the other eye open to look about for the moment when the smoke would build up (for a kind of informal balance or “negative space” to the cab, the main area interest) and when there were lines of direction for the two men in the cab. I explained all this for my students, to help them in previsualizing their own photos.

To my surprise, the image I had prepared as an example for students took Best of Show in the Faculty Division of the ATPI competition. As well, some of my students, in what is the first year for this photography program, took home recognition in different student categories. A good example in another way for students, to put oneself out there, something not necessarily instinctive to us.

The photos not made

Over the years there have been many photos I’ve not made. Sometimes there was no good to be had from taking a photo. I’ve volunteered at a homeless shelter, where under the trees nearby are tents set up by some of those without a place to stay. (The shelter opens when days are too cold or too scorching for human safety.) I’ve seen the sun setting behind the rows of tents tucked back among the trees and thought what a striking photo that would be. But to what good? Would my striking photo change the hearts of people in the community to find solutions? This past year, I’ve been regularly making a long drive back and forth to East Texas to take someone I know, facing a court date for some criminal charges, to check in with authorities there. My friend’s story is a compelling one, with drama and pathos and, to boot, good visuals; but, in this case, my friendship means more than any magazine piece for me. Recently, while I waited for my friend to do the obligatory check-in, to calm my nerves I wandered about the hallways of the 108-year-old courthouse and came across a worn metal stand that must have in a previous existence held gospel tracts, when such was more tolerated. This was a photo I was willing to make. Truth, believe it.

John August Swanson

The visual artist John August Swanson has passed on, September 23, at the age of 83. I never met Mr. Swanson, who lived and worked out in Los Angeles, though I told myself I would try to visit him should I ever be out that way. The closest to any conversation was passing on some messages through his studio assistant. From everything I read or heard about him, he was a lovely, kind, humble person. I loved the iconographic images he created. I also deeply admired how he saw his art as possibly holding in his hands something humble and spiritual, at once convicting to the unrighteous and uplifting to those seeking a just path. I have a few of his works on the walls to encourage me to think along those lines, too (on the best of days), including a signed print of his adaptation of Psalm 85, the scripture embedded in the work:

"Justice and Peace shall kiss, Truth shall spring out of the earth. Kindness and Truth shall meet, Justice shall look down from the heavens."

 
 

Anne

My friend Anne Coulter passed away earlier this month. “Not the other Ann Coulter,” she would declare the first time she met you, wanting to make sure you didn’t think her politics or disposition were like those of the abrasive pundit. At one time, she lived down the street from me. If after a few days I didn't see her out, I would walk down to check on her. As others noted about Anne, she was a lovely, spirited person. An encounter with her left you cheered up for the good (and open to the spontaneous) in the world. Under “People” (and also below) is a photo I took of her some eight years ago. I liked how the late afternoon light of the summer day especially showed her eyes. When I asked her whether I could use her photo, I told her I would put it on my website alongside Rosa Parks and another Anne, Anne Braden. She appreciated that company.

 
 

A Habitat house in Louisville

Where I live, the application process for a Habitat home is underway. It is a great program. A few years back, I was walking around a “transitional” neighborhood in Louisville, Kentucky, when I saw a woman out watering plants and adjusting the lawn decor in front of her house. I stopped to admire her work. She had decorated the house and yard to claim it as hers, and I complimented her on what she had done. She told me it was a Habitat house, and she proudly rejoined that she only had two years to go in paying for the house. I stopped to think today that it must now be all hers, and I am happy for her. She was shy to have herself in any photo and moved inside the glass front door while I took a half roll of film on my medium format camera.

A Time to Lament

One of my essays has been published, in The Doctor T. J. Eckleburg Review, the literary journal at Johns Hopkins University. The title is “A Time to Lament,” speaking of a need to examine our lives and our responsibilities toward one another. A caveat: this has descriptions of racism and violence. Of course, I abhor the hatred and objectification of others, never mind violence against another person. Any is horrid. A piece of writing should ideally need no explanation, but in writing this I couldn’t help but be affected by all the terrible sadness foisted on us in this terribly heated, divisive time. In piecing this together from family history, I couldn’t help but be thinking, too, about casting off rhetoric of hate and seeking to advance to be better.

We allow the meanness.

I am so very bothered at all the meanness. I see on the local level some leadership and empathy. But a young person I’ve known (in his thirties) said a few weeks back to just let the virus spread, immunity would spread, and the fit would survive. He is Calvinist, is that part of his position? But I know other good people in that tradition. Argh.

Bottom line, folks in charge could not get away with callousness if there weren’t a sizable people who did not object, who didn’t show more self-interest than concern for others. I see that callousness in individuals, organizations, and even in some churches.

I am not talking about a particular political party. I don’t want others to use my words to start some back-and-forth bickering or attempts to score points.

No, I just want folks to stop and be kind. At every level. The Bible says we will be known by the way we treat the “widows and orphans,” in other words those without, whether today that is without shelter, a job, access to good health care, or a good immune system.

It is easy to try to please people who will help us get ahead, will help us earn a buck (or kickback), will help us get a job or promotion, are young and good looking, are fun to be around, or agree with us politically and theologically. But that is not how we will be judged in the end, to believe the scriptures.

Some Hungarian poetry

The Dallas Institute of Humanities & Culture is one of the places that keeps me sane. This past Monday evening you would have been able to hear some of the work from Hungarian poet Gyula Jenei, read by him, along with the flowing English translations from Diane Senechal. I did not understand any of the Hungarian except for the stray “loan word” from somewhere else, but found it beautifully lilting. It is an Ularic language, rather than a Romance language (as are Italian, Spanish, French, English, etc.). Words are often compounded with plenty of suffixes and occasional prefixes. All those poetic sound devices came through. Here is a link for one of Gyula Jenei's poems in the original along with Dr. Senechal’s translation, a poem I particularly appreciated.

Trying to measure for the good in the community

Here is what I did that was more uplifting this July. I was able to volunteer some at Monsignor King Outreach Center, a local shelter for homeless. (A lot of these folks are holding down jobs, folks, but can't afford rent. Put away any stereotypes.) I made a few trips out of Denton. A friend and I visited CitySquare in southern Dallas, perhaps the best model in this area for helping low-income folks with housing and work (though my being out in heat sent me to bed for the next two days). This weather plays havoc with my asthma. When the weather cools enough to lower the humidity and ozone, I want to follow up. I have only managed to do some photo work and have mostly just been developing film from earlier projects.

Mostly, besides doing some small repair projects inside, and visiting doctors, I wrote and read. For myself, I’ve been reading and rereading some of Simone Weil’s works. I especially recommend Love in the Void: Where God Finds Us and On the Abolition of All Political Parties. If you don’t know her work, she was a contemporary of the writers and artists connected with the French Resistance and French Existentialism. She attended the Sorbonne with Sartre and another Simone, Simone de Beauvoir. Camus called her his favorite philosopher. Etc.

I have also been rereading some of Wendell Berry’s works. Currently I am dipping into a collection of essays, What Matters? Economics for a Renewed Commonwealth, and a novel, A Place on Earth. I also looked at an older work (1965), Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s The Lonely Man of Faith.

Besides those already mentioned, the most thought-provoking other books I read were Ragan Sutterfield’s recent Wendell Berry and the Given Life and an older book (2003), Robert Putnam’s Better Together: Restoring the American Community. Satterfield uses Berry’s writings as a taking off place to explore different virtues. Two chapter titles, for example, are “Home and Care in the Kingdom of God” and “Reclaiming Connection in a World of Division.”

I don’t allow my students to use this as a final source, but the Wikipedia entry on “Social Capital” has a fairly extensive and helpful introduction to the ideas of Putnam and related thinkers. For my more-conservative friends, this is not to be confused with socialism. The basic idea is that we should measure happiness or, say, the good of a proposed project, not just in the economic capital gained but in the good to the community in other ways, such as a sense of security, creating relationships, etc.

Weldon Burgoon

Weldon Burgoon, who kept alive the Western tradition and values, passed away yesterday. (There is a nice write-up in the local newspaper.) Before he closed shop in 2016, he kindly consented for me to attempt a portrait of him, and I later presented him with a copy. A good man.

Exposure latitude using film

I took some photos at yesterday's rally here for Beto O'Rourke, candidate for US Senate. I used three rolls of film in a medium format camera, so about thirty-six frames. There has only been time to develop one roll, but this, I think, is the best frame off that roll. For photographer friends, this was tricky. There was probably three f-stops difference in the light across the image, and I was not able to use a high-speed capture. I waited for clouds to roll through and then tried to quickly check my focus. But I think the medium format suits Beto, kind of a throwback candidate. The message? Carefully spoken, not dwelling much on negatives but, for the most part, emphasizing the positives of what unites people, reaching across the aisles as much as possible while keeping his central base. And look at the young girl on the lower left, who kept by the stage, sometimes leaning on the edge, soaking in the speech and the crowd.

Dante and listening to each other

What does literary theory have to do with the way we treat one another? Dante's fourfold theory of interpretation came up this morning in a symposium on education I joined in. It is a schema Dante borrowed from theologians who had applied it to the study of scriptures. Dante dared to apply it to literature. As the theory goes, stories begin on a literal level, then are perhaps read on an allegorical or historical level. But the best stories can also be read on a moral level as well as, finally, an anagogical level. The last is the most difficult to grasp, something like a spiritual understanding of ultimate meanings. I first was introduced to this in college and use it regularly in helping my own students with texts. I get it. Maybe that was why my mind was wandering this morning. I know that some students struggle with going past a literal level in their reading. For some people, it is equally difficult to understand others. Some people simply cannot understand others on the higher levels. Perhaps that is why they react to others with gossip or recriminations (or insulting memes). It is too difficult to do the necessary work to understand the different sides of another person, the insecurities, nuances, or contradictions. And what that person could ultimately be.

Emily Dickinson and Roger Lundin

I'm sure overlooked with the news of terrible atrocities in France, Lebanon, Iraq, and too many other places, but the literary scholar Roger Lundin passed away Friday. I had the occasion to visit with him over the years, when we would be together at conferences. Maybe twenty-five years ago, we talked late into the night in the kitchen of Jim Barcus, then the chairman of the English department at Baylor University. Also involved in our conversations that evening was Joe Barnhart. Joe, who then taught at the same university where I taught but in another department, has written several books on matters of religion from his respectful but skeptical perspective, and I think maybe he had presented on Jonathan Edwards. I had given an overview of Bakhtin's ideas, suggesting an application of heteroglossia to Jesus's discourses in the gospel of John.

Lundin, long-time professor at Wheaton, was one of the foremost scholars on religion and literature, especially known for his work with American literature, and he had been a keynote speaker. I think his treatise on Emily Dickinson's poetry, Emily Dickinson and the Art of Belief, is especially sensitive to that poet's spiritual rawness. This weekend, I have been thinking especially of one of Dickinson's poem, on visiting a field where a year before men had been slaughtered in battle, bothered at the cheerfulness of the chirping of birds she now hears, a seeming disregard for those who had fallen as people now go about their business.